


i've done everything and i've been everywhere you know

by polyproticamory



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Pining, Secret Crush, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23827186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polyproticamory/pseuds/polyproticamory
Summary: It took a few years of sunrise-to-sunset work, but Hana turned the overgrown fields of Illumine Acres into the organic farm of her dreams. After she fixed the community center with the help of the Junimos and set up the farm to pretty much run itself, she shifted her attention to the rest of Pelican Town—especially a certain red-haired writer on the beach.
Relationships: Elliott/Female Player (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 82





	1. All the things I would do

**Author's Note:**

> Titles are all Hozier lyrics because I love that man's music. 
> 
> Been procrastinating on a whole host of things because *gestures at everything* but I hope you enjoy the one thing that I have been working on fairly consistently.

On the last day of her second Winter in Pelican Town, Hana ran past the bus stop. She followed Pam’s footprints, made hours earlier in the melting snow, and panted heavily as she made her way up the stairs to the community center. She clutched the rabbit’s foot—found among the hay in the coop as she checked on her animals one last time before bed—and marveled at how it was still somewhat warm in her hand.

The creaking door broke the silence of the night, and Hana stomped the snow off her boots before treading across the gleaming hardwood floor. As soon as she touched the rabbit’s foot to the plaque on the bulletin board, the room filled with fog and an ethereal light that heralded the renovating presence of the forest spirits. 

_ The last bundle...Farewell, Hana… _

Hana reached a hand out, as if to touch the Junimo bouncing in the center of her vision. 

“Farewell…”

Like all other times, there was a crack and Hana’s eyes adjusted to the sudden change in light. The narrow hallway was fully restored, connecting the main room and the vault and boiler in the east wing. A Junimo carried the tied-off bundle to the hut, then emerged with the final star for the frame above the fireplace. 

Hana smiled and watched as the final touches of the community center fell into place. In the main room was a set of handsome bookshelves, filled half-filled with cookbooks, novels, and children’s books. Facing the windows near the entrance, also, was a large desk, its matching wooden chair draped with a throw blanket. She walked towards it and ran her fingers over its smooth surface, reminded suddenly of her days in the Zuzu City library on the weekends, typing away faithfully at her old college laptop. 

The Junimos and their stone-and-fiber home vanished as the building settled into its bones. But before she could examine the final renovations even further, exhaustion hit. She yawned and felt the room tilt, and she sat down in the plush couch that had appeared near the entryway.

The next morning, she woke up in her bed. 

***

When Hana woke at 6am, her joints felt sore and cracked as she stretched from head to toe. She groaned when she saw she was still in her clothes, but tucked under the covers; a Joja employee most likely had brought her home, and she could expect a bill in the mail for the service. 

Out of bed, before she changed into a fresh set of work clothes, Hana glanced over her spreadsheet of the items sold from the previous day. She was still solvent despite the heavy fee, and had more than enough to buy the first of her Spring seeds. 

Outside, the sunrise was already illuminating the sky in rose gold and periwinkle. The first day of spring was shaping up to be a fine one, and Hana sighed as she turned to face the raised flag of the mailbox indicating the presence of the Joja bill. 

“Might as well get it over with,” she muttered to herself. She pulled the door down to see not just one, but several envelopes crammed tightly into the space, filling almost every inch.

“What the—?”

The bill from Joja stuck out from the rest of the envelopes, and Hana opened it to verify that, yes, she had passed out in town and a Joja employee brought her home. The automatic payment will be verified in a week. Hana tossed it aside and reached a hand into the mailbox before recoiling slightly. She didn’t even know where to start pulling out all of the other envelopes. 

They were all notes from the townspeople written on different kinds of stationery: plain white envelopes; heavy, old-fashioned envelopes with wax seals instead of adhesive; re-used security envelopes with plastic address windows. She adored getting letters, loved the creases in the page and the way the ink settled into the paper. But she hadn’t received a letter in months; even her father had stopped sending short missives with a check for extra money and instead opted for a quick phone call every few weeks.

Hana picked out a letter from Mayor Lewis first, which was lucky as it happened to explain why the rest of the mail had suddenly shown up. 

Gifts and necessary items for everyone had shown up on everyone’s doorstep. Addressed from her farm. 

“Oh, Yoba,” Hana whispered, reading the letter from Lewis one more time and thinking of the Junimos. “What have you Little Ones done?”

Patty, Hana’s tabby cat, wound her way around Hana’s legs, tail curling in languid delight. And she darted away when Hana pulled the envelopes from the mailbox and walked back into the house. She tossed the letters on the kitchen table, across her spreadsheets.

The letters contained notes of thanks, some effusive and some terse, with small gifts tucked in the folds of the paper. Recipe cards for various dishes, compact fertilizer packets, batteries for lanterns. Hana put the letters in a neat pile, tossed the envelopes into a bin, and then arranged the small tokens across the table. On the back of Lewis’s note was a P.S.— _ Come to the community center when you can; it’s a miracle! It’s all rebuilt! _

“Not a miracle,” Hana whispered, her heart racing.

***

When Hana entered the community center, slightly out of breath from climbing all the steps, the whole town was gathered in the spacious main room. It reminded Hana just how small Pelican Town really was, and yet in that space, filling it from wall to wall, the place felt bigger than she had ever imagined. 

She hadn’t been a great neighbor, spending most of her time on the farm getting it in back to its former glory. The greenhouse the Junimos repaired meant that her winter was as busy as the rest of the year as she tended to crops and provided fresh produce to Pierre’s. In fact, Pierre was probably the one she was closest to, followed by Robin and Marnie due to Hana’s various projects to expand the farm. Hana saw the three of them talking by a window, and they waved and cheered when they saw her enter. 

Hana felt herself blush as everyone turned to look at her. Just as Pierre reached her to shake her hand vigorously, Mayor Lewis gave a shout and also clapped a hand on her shoulder. 

“Hana!” the older man exclaimed. “Look at this place!”

“And you just missed it!” Pierre said, still shaking Hana’s hand. “Morris was here, and I gave him the old left hook—!”

“Serves him right!” said a dark-haired man with stubble—Shane?—from the wall. 

“Hear, hear!” Someone else exclaimed. Hana looked around and saw a blond-haired man standing with Pierre’s daughter, Abigail, and Sebastian, Robin’s son. He was wearing what looked like a Joja shirt with the logo patch ripped off, and had his arms draped around the two people Hana did know, grinning, if possible, even wider.

Hana looked around and let the conversation wash over her, registering the excitement of the crowd about the community center, running Joja out of town, and all the things they would be able to do, now that they had this space to do it. She pieced together the town and tried to recall the names attached to the faces of the people she met in her first week, and tried to keep herself from coming back, again and again, to the red-haired group near the writing desk window. 

At some point, Mayor Lewis put an arm around her shoulder and steered her to the central fireplace, where a gold-plated trophy stood on a plinth. The plaque on the base had the words STARDEW HERO engraved in thin letters. 

“For you,” Mayor Lewis said. He smiled in a grandfatherly way, the ends of his moustache curling up, his eyes crinkling at the edges. 

Hana felt herself blush even redder at the applause that the town gave, but accepted the heavy trophy.

***

The party showed no signs of winding down, and Hana resigned herself to plant a day late, enjoying, instead, the opportunity to observe and get to know people. When she imagined what life in Pelican Town would be like, this was closer to it. A tight-knit community that, somehow, somewhere, had a place in it for her. 

When she first showed up, she was shocked and disappointed, not just by the state of the farm, but also by the pall of dreariness that seemed to hover over the town. On her first venture to Pierre’s to buy a wider variety of seeds in her first month, she saw people walking paths without acknowledging one another, acting like they were being railroaded from place to place with no deviation from their norm. The town square, which was clean and neat and full of blooming trees and flower beds—a picturesque center that demands to be appreciated by the town residents—was filled only with the rustle of the wind in the leaves. 

But now, with this celebration, everything was infused with new life. From the buffet table, she could see everyone, and catch people in conversation as they got their second and third helpings. Jodi and her husband Kent came up to congratulate her on all the work she had done so far, and their son Sam—the one in the defaced Joja uniform—re-introduced himself. 

“It’s all good,” he said when Hana apologized for not remembering his name. “You’re also something of a mystery ’round here. Sometimes Sebastian here doesn’t even know if you’re real.”

“Sometimes I don’t even know if  _ I’m _ real,” Sebastian said, deadpan and without missing a beat. Sam barked a laugh and punched him on the shoulder before being pulled away by Abby. 

Sebastian stood next to Hana as he refilled his plate. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Hana said. With Sebastian around, she felt more at ease, familiar with the quiet boy who would pause to chat with her whenever she went to get a farm building upgrade from Robin. “How’s it going?”

“Same old shit,” Sebastian said. He gestured around the community center party with a buffalo wing. “But this is different. Congrats on being Pelican Town Citizen of the Decade or whatever the fuck’s on that trophy.”

Hana blushed. “I feel really embarrassed. I didn’t think that fixing this place up would be that big a deal.”

“It’s the most exciting thing to happen since you moved here. Or since Elliott moved to that shack by the beach.” Sebastian jerked his chin up to indicate the red-haired man standing behind Hana. 

Hana turned slowly and tried to keep her blush from deepening. She made herself look Elliott in the eye and tried not to stare. 

Though she only ever saw him at a distance at the few town festivals she attended, she remembered him clearly, and had always found him handsome. His shoulder-length red hair that always looked artfully windswept framed a pleasant face that was strong without looking carved of stone. His dated fashion sense looked timeless on him, though she prefered him the way he was now: dressed down in jeans and a white tee covered by an unbuttoned collared shirt.

Elliott laughed softly, the dimple in his cheek deepening. “You’re too much.” He turned to Hana and winked. “There’s nothing all that special about me. Especially not compared to Stardew’s Hero.” 

Hana ignored the flutter in her stomach and rolled her eyes. “I mean, I guess,” she said in a playfully teasing tone. “What makes you so interesting anyway?”

“He’s a writer,” Sebastian said, nudging Hana with an elbow. 

“Oh!” Hana’s stomach fluttered more insistently.  _ A writer _ , she thought.  _ Figures. _

“An aspiring one,” Elliot replied. He shook his head and sighed. “No publications to my name, I’m afraid. Not even a short story in a magazine.”

“Details,” Hana said. “If you write, you’re a writer. And I’m sure you’re a great one, too.”

It was Elliott’s turn to blush. “Such confidence. You say those words so ardently that I’m almost inclined to believe you.”

“I have a lot of experience giving pep talks to struggling artists.” Hana shrugged and took another slice of baklava from the tray on the buffet table.  _ Mostly myself _ , she added silently.

Elliott hummed. “Is that so?” He smiled and leaned over to also take some of the flaky, honeyed dessert from the tray in front of her. “Well, I just might have to keep you around, Hana.”


	2. An art to life's distractions

After the first planting of the Spring crops, the farm ran itself. The cows were trained to step into the automatic milkers, and the sprinklers were set on a timer. When Hana felt restless sitting in her pasture surrounded by her animals, talking with them and petting their feathers or hide, she walked to town and check the bulletin board for requests.

In the several days after the community center celebration, Hana gave refined quartz to Maru who needed it for an experiment, kale to Caroline who wanted to cook something for Evelyn Mullner, green algae for Haley, and some aquamarine for Emily. As Hana perused the board on a particularly sunny Spring day, she saw a request from Sam for some Joja Cola during his break at the museum, and a little circle around the date on the calendar—Sam’s brother Vincent’s birthday.

The only place to get a Joja Cola was the Stardrop Saloon, and Hana walked across the square. Inside, the front room was dim and cavernous, not even the jukebox blasting its usual ragtime theme. Gus emerged from the swinging doors with a rag already over his shoulder, and he greeted Hana with a smile and a nod. “Hey there, Hana.”

“Hi, Gus,” Hana said, pointing to the game room. “I’m just grabbing some soda from the back.”

“Of course, of course,” Gus said, waving his hand. “Sam post a request on the bulletin board, huh?”

“Yep.” Hana chuckled and shook her head. “Is this a regular thing, then?”

“More or less.” Gus ducked behind the bar and Hana heard the clinking of glass. “He had a rough go of it a while back. Laid off from his job at JojaMart when the store wasn’t doing as well as the company had hoped. He’s a good kid; kept his chin up and kept saying that the only thing he missed was the discount on all the Joja Cola he could drink.”

“He was laid off?” Hana asked, walking towards the bar instead of the back room. “I didn’t know that.”

“Oh, it’s not something he talks about; the past few years have been hard on everyone. But it’s been looking up. It’s only recently that Pierre’s been in the black at the end of the week, and the bus running again means more tourists, even outside of the Harvest Festival.” Gus emerged with two glass bottles and metal caps, then ducked down again.

“Well, I guess that’s something.” Hana drummed her fingers on the bar, thinking back to when the bus was fixed just the previous fall, in time for people to get away to Calico Desert as much as they could in the dead of winter. Her eyebrow twitched as she remembered the Junimos taking the last stack of Gold notes, the forest spirits chirping their thanks as they took the bundle into their hut. The next morning, Hana was walking through town to sell her greenhouse produce and did a double take when she saw Pam leap and click her heels at seeing the bus fully operational.

Hana cleared her throat and shook her head to bring herself back to the moment. “I should get that Cola.”

“Nah, wait a minute,” Gus said, popping up from the bar again with a bottle of ruby red syrup and the nozzle to the carbonated water stream. “Take this to Sam instead.”

“Oh?” Hana watched Gus assemble the drink, mixing the water and syrup with a long spoon. “What is it?”

“Cranberry Candy. And there’s one for Vincent, too.”

“It _is_ Vincent’s birthday today,” Hana mused, watching Gus press the caps onto the bottles, the bright red soda bubbling gently inside. “How much for them?”

Gus waved his hand again. “No need to pay for gifts.”

“Oh but—”

Gus gave her a look that had Hana biting down on her insistence to pay. She smiled sheepishly instead, putting the bottles in her backpack, and said, “Thanks, Gus. I’ll pay you back somehow.”

“Of course, Hana.”

***

Fixing the community center and the rewards from the Junimo had bigger impacts than she had imagined. Everywhere, there were signs of new life injected into Pelican Town. The public flower beds seemed bigger, more in bloom, even early in the season. The houses, which were previously clean and functional, now had Robin’s signature scaffolding surrounding them as she modified the exteriors, adding polish where there wasn’t any before. Even the river seemed cleaner, and glimmered occasionally with metal ore that came from the mountainside. Not enough to attract major attention, but enough that the townspeople who panned for the pieces got a small bit of pocket money, or more cash to put into a rainy day fund. 

The library-museum, too, seemed a little brighter when Hana entered. Gunther tipped his hat in greeting, and then went back to reading whatever journal he was fixated on that week, and Hana tiptoed over the creaky wood floor to look for Sam among the display cases. 

As she passed through the stacks, she saw a flash of red hair out of the corner of her eye and she doubled back. There, facing the bookcases, was Elliott, his corduroy jacket fitting snugly around his shoulders. He had his head bent towards a book in his hands, ignorant to the world around him.

Hana didn’t have many voyeuristic pleasures, but watching people read was something she loved doing. Seeing someone engage in the act of scanning a page, or looking intently at a screen, always inspired her to do the same. Reading was always a way to meet another mind, and seeing someone else do this was fascinating. What unconscious habits emerged when they’re so engrossed? What subtle indications do they give that a text is engrossing and challenging, as all texts should be? 

Seeing Elliott in profile, his eyes sliding across and down the page, was entrancing. He stood and shuffled his feet, kicking his toes against the floor as she shifted his weight from one foot to another. The library’s skylights washed over him in a soft glow, creating a gold halo from the wisps of his hair that escaped his bun. Hana peeked from around a bookcase, moving slowly and silently away, trying not to disturb him. She was so caught up in not making a sound that she didn’t notice Sam right near the threshold that separated the stacks from the museum

“Oof! I—oh, Hana, hi.” Sam grinned and took his headphones off, draping them around his neck. “Sorry about that.” 

“Sam,” Hana whispered, feeling another blush rise to her cheeks. “Hey, sorry, wasn’t looking where I was going. That was my bad.”

“I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything, but since you admit it, I’ll gladly put the blame on you.” Sam leaned against the dividing wall between the library and the museum, crossing his arms so that the mop handle was pinned in the crook of his elbow. “What’s up?”

Hana took her backpack off and stepped into the museum, away from the stacks and Elliott reading. “I saw your board post about the Joja Cola. But…”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “But?”

“Gus gave me this instead.” Hana pulled the bottles out of her bag, giving one to Sam. “Cranberry Candy. And I have one for Vincent as well, for his birthday.”

Sam looked stunned for a moment, holding the bottle and staring at Hana. “You remembered Vincent’s birthday?”

Hana shrugged. “The birthday calendar’s right next to the bulletin board.”

Sam looked at Hana with shining blue eyes, a smile growing steadily across his face. A warm expression unfurled on Sam’s golden face. There was a shift in the air, like stepping through an invisible doorway. “That’s still pretty rad of you. Thanks, Hana.”

“No problem,” Hana said, handing the second bottle over and stepping away. She was really stepping away from all that glow, but still, she found it easy to laugh with him. Sam’s sunny personality permeating through everything. “Be sure to tell him that’s from me. Don’t go stealing my glory.”

“Never,” Sam said, slipping the bottles into the roomy pockets of his cargo pants. “Wouldn’t dream of getting in the way of Stardew’s Hero.” 

Hana sighed. “Are people really going to call me that forever?”

“Don’t worry, it’ll die down when the next young farmer comes around and builds a movie theater or an arcade.” 

“Now, there’s an idea…”

Sam laughed, then clapped a hand to his mouth to silence himself. He looked at Hana, his blue eyes shining with mirth. “Slow down there, farmer, or they’ll replace the Yoba shrine with an altar to worship you.”

Hana snickered under her breath. “That’s not exactly a deterrent. But I should go anyway.” She started walking away when she heard Sam call out softly behind her. 

“Off to save some other, struggling rural community?”

Hana had crossed the museum threshold into the library and glanced at Elliott, still engrossed in his reading, turning the page idly. She turned to look at Sam and smiled. “Nah, no saving here. Just struggling.”

***

When Hana got back to the farm, she dragged the small kitchen table to the covered porch, removing the checkered table cloth to reveal the smooth, glossy surface. She made herself coffee in the stovetop percolator, grabbed a notebook and pen from the kitchen junk drawer, then sat at the table to look out at the gently rolling hills of her farm. 

She knew she would never get tired of this view. Already two years into this new adventure and the land was unrecognizable from the overgrown fields that greeted her when she stepped off the bus. She still tried to keep some of its wildness by mixing plants in each row. The strips of natural grassland that bordered each field provided a haven for the pollinating bees and butterflies, and separated the pasture that the cows, goats, sheep, and chickens grazed and fertilized every day. In every season, even in winter, the distant mountains that surrounded the valley filled her gaze with something new: the riot of color and the movement of strong breezes through the treetops.

Hana turned her attention to the blank page. Writing was harder than she remembered. She uncapped her pen and wrote the date at the top of the first page, but couldn’t think of where to start. What ideas did she have for stories? What exactly was it she was craving for when she wrote so much in the city?

In her old life, there were days when the words came easily, crammed in during her lunch breaks and the hours after work. Though her stories all sounded the same—featuring ambitious, young women in the city as the protagonists—the act of writing them was an escape. Zuzu City, for all its glitz and glamor, still felt like a cage. And writing, ferociously and fiercely, was her way of roaring against the bars.

But what did she have to escape in Pelican town? What was confining her—what was confined within her? Hana didn’t feel the same need to escape the life she had built on the farm. Her life now had more of a purpose, a direction. She felt better than she had in years, felt closer to herself, and more content.

 _Not all literature has to be an escape,_ Hana thought. _Sometimes, you can just give voice to truth, and that's enough_.

Hana tapped the capped end of the pen and gazed into the distance, letting her mind go soft and pliant around the edges. She always felt herself more receptive this way, more ready to jump at creativity when it wandered by. She looked out and her gaze devoured the sights of the farm, the sprouting of early spring, the thin greeenness of the world waking up from a season’s slumber.

 _This_ , she thought. _I should be writing this_.

So she put her pen to paper and began to write. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I got a bit self-indulgent at the end there with writing about writing. Can't help it. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	3. The act of making noise that brought you joy

If Hana were to write the story of the Egg Festival, she would start with:

The town square was still damp from yesterday’s rain. On the walk from the farm, the puddles in the path glistened, reflecting the blue sky and high branches of the trees that formed an arched canopy overhead.

She forgot about the Egg Festival, since she never really participated in the main event of the Egg Hunt. So she walked to town with her horse’s saddle bags filled with fruit, harvested early from the trees and her greenhouse, then gaped at the egg-themed decorations that covered the town square. These transformations never failed to surprise her.

At the entrance to the square, she dismounted then tied her horse to a fence post that circled the small park behind Jodi’s house. The boots on her feet splashed in the puddles, and she slipped and slid toward the small crowd that gathered.

If Hana were to write the story of the Egg Festival, she probably wouldn’t linger on descriptions of the town and its people. But this year, when she arrived, it was more than just Pierre who greeted her as she approached.

“Hana!” Sam exclaimed, dressed in a short-sleeved green button-down, a hint of a tattoo on his bicep peeking out. “Glad you could make it!”

“Yeah,” Hana said, not mentioning her forgetfulness. “This all looks great. Always does.”

“It’s all thanks to the Coopers,” Sam said, jerking his head in the direction of Shane and Marnie who were both cradling blue-feathered hens in their arms. Sam looked at Hana out of the corner of his eye and grinned, full of mischief. “And thanks to you and your chickens, too, Stardew’s—”

“Don’t say it—”

Sam laughed and threw an arm around Hana’s shoulders. “Say what? What was I going to say?”

Hana rolled her eyes, but smiled, falling into the ease of Sam’s teasing. She looked around the festival and noticed how everyone was caught up in the revelry. Every year, the spirits seemed to shine on the festival, and the day was a display of early springtime glory. Full blossoms alongside flower buds. The colors all had a pastel pall and merely hinted at the full vividness brought by summer. In her mind, Hana tried to memorize everything, thinking,  _ What will be worthy of writing down today?” _

That’s how she’d been thinking of her daily writing: a gentle gleaning of the most memorable and moving moments. Granted, everything felt close to the surface lately, her mind open to the movements and currents of town. She was grateful for so much to write about. And she felt stymied by the sheer amount there was to say about Pelican Town, even if she still kept to the farm on most days. In some ways, it felt like an epiphany—something thawed inside her and began to leak out.

But she also didn’t know where the currents would take her. If Hana were to write the story of the Egg Festival, she would probably write about how she started noticing the invisible lines that the townspeople still never crossed. 

The parents all stood together, looking over at the tight knot of their grown children. Penny and Maru looked after the small children, and Willy and Marlon stood on the opposite side of the square, far from everyone. Shane stood with Marnie, Haley and Emily stood with Clint, and then, near the bridge that crossed to the beach, were Elliott and Leah, standing under a tree with their heads bent together.

Hana looked away. She saw this as an opportunity to cross a few lines, to create the cohesive vision of community she had witnessed the day the center was all fixed up. As she floated to the other groups, she tried to get new groups to coalesce, though it wasn’t exactly her strong suit. She spoke to Harvey about the health benefits of eggs, and to Demetrius about the origins of egg eating.

“It just seems strange to me,” Demetrius said, picking up a slick, peeled hard boiled egg. “These are reproductive byproducts. Like milk. So why—”

“Maybe don’t think too hard about it, dear,” Robin said, patting her husband on the arm. “Just enjoy it.”

“Hana,” Demetrius said, “you’re a farmer. You must have an opinion on this.”

“Only that eggs are pretty good fried in the morning,” Hana quipped. She immediately blushed at the somewhat dumbstruck expressions on both Robin’s and Demetrius’s faces. “Sorry, dumb joke—”

But then they both laughed, starting soft, then growing more and more raucous. The other townsfolk started to look at the small knot near the buffet table, and Hana turned even redder. “Was it...that funny?”

“No,” Robin said honestly, still giggling. “Just struck a funny bone.” The couple gave a parting smile before leaving with their plates full of egg dishes, moving onto a new conversation that Hana wasn’t part of.

“That was weird,” Hana mumbled, turning to load up her own plate. A shadow fell on the platter of deviled eggs and Hana looked up to see Sebastian looming over her, an annoyed expression on his face as he stared at his parents’ retreating forms. “Did you see that?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian said, rolling his eyes. “I think they might just be a little loopy. They got into this huge fight the other day about whether or not tomatoes were what mom meant when she asked Demetrius to ‘get some fruit’ from the store. They made up, but everything always feels a little bad after something like that, right?”

“And anything good gets an overreaction, yeah.” Hana nodded. “That makes sense. Sorry that you had to hear that fight, though.”

Sebastian shrugged. “I mean, I could barely hear it in the basement. I’m just glad that Maru was at work so that she didn’t bear witness.” He nodded to his half-sister standing with Penny. 

Maru always looked happy, her red hair combed smooth and framing a round face. She was only one or two years younger than Hana, but she felt like a whole generation younger, her hand holding a smartphone in a practiced, careless grip, easy access to a world of information at her fingertips. Hana liked her phone, liked using the apps, but found herself filling her time with other things. 

As she watched Maru and Penny, Elliott and Leah walked up to them, arms linked together. Elliott put a hand on Penny’s shoulder to draw her a little ways away, then said something to her that put a huge smile on her face and made her leap up to hug him around his neck. Hana made herself look away. The fair skin and red hair of the women Elliott surrounded himself with made Hana’s stomach bottom out when she thought of her own dark color palette. Though she lost her appetite, she took a bite of egg salad, then walked with Sebastian in the other direction.

When the egg hunt started, Hana watched as Abby and Jas sprinted in opposite directions towards the eggs they could see in plain sight. With such a small town square, there were only so many places to hide even something as small as a chicken egg. Lewis called out the time every few minutes, which urged the kids to move faster. 

Hana noticed an egg in the flower bed in front of her, covered by the early buds and leaves. She surreptitiously caught Abby’s eye, then looked down significantly at the spot where the egg was hidden. Abby ran towards her, then reached into the bush to snatch the egg just as Lewis called time. 

For the first time ever, it was a tie, and Jas looked up at the purple-haired girl, grinning at the goofy expression on Abby’s face as she put the straw hat on her own head. “You’ll get this when we tie again next year,” Abby said, grinning. 

“Watch out, Abs, maybe she’ll beat you next time,” Sam said, grinning. 

“Nonsense!” Abby scoffed good-naturedly, flipping her hair over her shoulder before leading Jas away. “Come on, let’s get some celebratory ice cream.”

As they walked away, Vincent shuffled up to his big brother, a dejected look on his face. Sam, seeing the heavy frown, cheered and said, “But look! The  _ real _ champion of the day is here!”

“But I didn’t win anything,” Vincent said, his voice wobbling, tears beginning to form in his eyes. 

“Are you kidding me? You got the best prize of all! Mayor Lewis just didn’t want to give it to you and make everyone else jealous.”

Vincent looked at Sam skeptically, with an expression that broke Hana’s heart: half hopeful, half betrayed at the blatant lie his brother was telling. From where she stood, she could see the blush creeping up Sams neck, a sign that he was lying his ass off. 

Still, he went on, folding his arms in a practiced, casual way. “But if you don’t believe me, I guess the prize will just have to go to someone else.”

“No, I want it!” Vincent exclaimed, running at his brother to hug him fiercely around the waist. 

“Alright, then, hold your horses,” Sam laughed. Hana could see his neck turn fully red. “It’s, uh, it’s…”

“It’s in my saddlebag,” Hana interrupted, downing the rest of her drink. “I was keeping it safe. You know, since the farm house is out of the way. But I left over with my things.”

“That’s right!” Sam said, mouthing the words  _ Thank you _ when Vncent turned his head to look at Hana. 

“Think you can sit tight for ten minutes?” she asked, tossing her cup into the closest trash can. When Vincent nodded, she jogged away, giving Sam a covert wink as she went. 

She dug through her saddlebags and unearthed a bunch of grapes she had been growing in the drier parts of her greenhouse. They were large, deep indigo-colored with pits in the middle, but incredibly sweet, like candy. She carried the largest bunch in both hands, then walked over to Vincent. “Ta-da! Your prize, young sir.”

Vincent’s responding smile was radiant, and he let go of Sam to run towards Hana. “Oh,  _ wow _ ! I love these!”

“See!” Sam said, grinning broadly. “Told ya that you were the winner of the day.”

Vincent nodded, a grape already in his mouth. he spit the seed out into his hand then tossed it into the trash. “Thank you, Miss Hana.”

“Congratulations on your prize,” she said, accepting the young boy’s hug. When he ran off, holding the grapes aloft to show Jas, Hana turned to Sam to see him smiling, softer and more thoughtful.

“You know, that’s the second time you’ve given Vincent something he really loves,” Sam said, eyeing her closely. “Sure you’re not a mind-reader?”

Hana shook her head. “Jodi mentioned he liked them when I brought her some stuff last week.”

Sam nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Alright. Makes sense.” He leaned closer to her, grin growing larger, more playfully crooked. “Though some part of me thinks you have some special powers because  _ you’re _ —”

“Don’t say it—”

Sam laughed, then picked her up in a sudden, tight hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Hana.”

Hana giggled and shook her head, noticing Sam’s clean, soapy scent—she stopping herself from inhaling too deeply. She could feel her heart race, and though she felt embarrassed for reacting like this to just Sam. “It was nothing,” Hana murmured, feeling herself be let back down to her feet.

The rest of the celebration continued. Hana ate her fill of eggs, indulging in the egg custard-based ice cream that Gus presented with much gusto. In the waning sunset light, she found herself chatting with Penny, who had come over to say that she saw what Hana did for Vincent. The conversation drifted, then, into books that are good gateways to reading for kids who are his age, books that they liked growing up, what makes a book good and re-readable. 

Hana noticed (but tried not to) when Elliot and Leah leaving arm-in-arm, heading south to the bridge that led to the beach. They didn’t part ways, but kept walking together into the gathering darkness. 

“You okay?” Penny asked, catching Hana’s attention again. “You looked like you went somewhere else for a moment there.”

“No,” Hana said absently. “I mean, yes, I’m fine. Sorry, it’s just been a long day. But I’ll have to check out that series you mentioned. Solarian Chronicles?”

“Yes, and I think the library only has the first one, but Sebastian has the whole set.”

“Cool, I’ll ask him about borrowing them…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story aggressively wants to be a Sam/Female Player story, but it's not! (I do love Sam, though, and there is a dearth of Sam/Female Player fics, imho. Please send recs.) But anyway, I'm just gradually building the romance...


	4. I will not ask, and neither should you

The invitation to be interviewed for the Stardew Valley Tribune looked like junk mail at first. It had too many clip art shapes, and it was printed on thick, matte paper in black and white so that the Tribune’s logo looked pasted on in the corner. Hana didn’t even really open it, just tossed it with the mass mailers Pierre had taken to sending out to the surrounding villages, his supply of organic produce having grown significantly past the demand of tiny Pelican Town.

But the letter was followed up by a phone call to her cabin, the jangling ring of the old land line startling Hana out of her reverie. She had started chasing down a few story ideas, not even really sure if they would lead anywhere, but found herself blocked—again—on something that might have been chapter four of a longer work. The phone rang while she was staring at a blank page of her notebook, trying to find a new direction, and she set down her pen to answer the call. 

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was fast: “Hello, may I please speak with Hana, of Illumine Acres?”

Hana slipped easily into the same clipped, professional tone, matching the speaker’s pace. “Speaking. Who, may I ask, is calling?”

“This is Brandy Anderson, from the Stardew Valley Tribune. I was wondering if you got my letter?”

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m not interested in a subscription—”

Brandy laughed. “Oh, no no. I’m not asking for money. Though you should sign up to get the first quarter free—but anyway! I’m not calling to talk about that.”

“Oh, my apologies.”

“No, no. I wrote to you last week, asking about an interview?”

“Oh?” Hana fiddled with the phone cord, vaguely remembering the thin envelope and cardstock, and then ripping it up to throw it away. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I received it.”

“Not to worry, not to worry. I was wondering if you would be interested in an interview. I’ve had my ear to the ground and have heard wonderful things about your farm! How it won prizes in Pelican Town’s annual Harvest Festival?”

“Oh, well, just the one year.” 

Brandy continued as if Hana hadn’t spoken. “Is it true that you didn’t grow up a farmer? People are fascinated that a young, inexperienced woman could get started so quickly. Why, even the governor was impressed, when he came to visit Pelican Town last!”

“Right.” Hana covered the mouthpiece to muffle her sigh. She had kept the land line open to mostly handle business inquiries, local stores placing orders for her honey and cheeses, so the number was public knowledge. Still, an interview for a newspaper seemed excessive. She didn’t need the publicity, didn’t feel like there was much to publicize.

Hana took a deep breath before replying. “I appreciate hearing such kind comments about the farm. I have been putting in a lot of hard work, and it’s nice to hear that’s been recognized. However, I also don’t feel very comfortable commenting at this time.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Brandy said, disappointment lacing her words. “We would really love to feature you. It’s such a snappy story: young city-slicker successfully roughing it in the mountains.” 

“I wouldn’t be that interesting, beyond that,” Hana admitted. “But maybe you can keep your ear to the ground, find out more about farming in the valley more broadly? I’m sure there are others in the area who are looking to do the same thing. You could make it a bigger piece than just a profile on a single, boring person.”

Brandy hummed, then sighed, the sound of her breath crackling through. “Maybe. Well, I appreciate your taking the time to talk a little bit. Would it be alright if I called again, if the story does get expanded?” 

“That would be fine,” Hana said. “I’d be happy to be part of a larger piece that’s about the valley as a whole.”

“Thanks again, Hana.”

“Of course. Have a nice day.”

She placed the phone in the receiver, then slumped into her couch, looking around the sun-filled living room. 

Hana was proud of the life she had built here, though it, in some ways, felt radically minimal. She had asked Robin to upgrade some parts of her rustic cabin, insulating the walls and closing any leaks in the windows and doors. The kitchen was the most different from its original state, with more modern marble countertops and gleaming stainless steel fixtures, but she still whipped egg whites with a manual egg beater, still kneaded bread dough by pushing and shaping it with her hands. The walls were bare, but the bookcases were bursting with things she had collected over the years—old college textbooks she didn’t have the heart to sell, cheap paperbacks she bought during street fairs in the city, photo frames of old friends and family, and bundles of their letters tied with twine. 

This is what life as a young city-slicker roughing it in the mountains amounted to. Days full of hard work and nights spent sitting in front of a fire, finding other ways to occupy her mind. Hana wrote, and she read, and she occasionally went to the saloon to keep up with the few friends she had made, but that was it. Life was quiet, nothing else to it. There was only so much you could glamorize the languid peace of the valley.

***

The morning after the call from the Stardew Valley Tribune, Hana walked into town with a basket full of leeks balanced on her hip, her straw hat tied under her chin to shade her eyes from the bright, late spring sun. Already it felt like summer, with its heavy humidity, though the temperatures for planting wouldn’t be right until the final cold rains of spring passed through. 

Outside Pierre’s there was a new request—from Leah, asking for squid. It was too early to catch it fresh in the ocean, but Hana had a whole one frozen, reserved for a birthday present of fried calamari for Pierre.

There were other things Hana could give him for his birthday: the rock candy that seems to only be found in the traveling cart, or a rabbit’s foot, many of which seem to be popping up in the coop nowadays. But there was something special about a home cooked meal, especially on slow days in the store when Pierre would stare longingly at the beautiful weather outside, stomach rumbling as he nibbled on a field snack for his meager lunch break. 

Still, Hana hadn’t been able to get any closer to Leah since the celebration at the community center. They had a short conversation then, about driftwood and Robin’s master carpentry, but otherwise Hana had only seen the red-haired artist in passing, or hanging onto Elliott’s arm at the Egg Festival. Though Hana tried to justify the lack of friendly overtures—Leah was always seen deeply engrossed in her sketchbook, and Hana herself would often be rushing between chores and errands for others—there was also the reality of forlorn jealousy simmering in the background. Leah and Elliott looked perfect together, which made Hana’s crush seem even more embarrassing and ridiculous.

They were all adults, though. Pettiness was below them, was below Hana, and so with her mouth set in a determined line, Hana pulled the want ad from the bulletin board, intent on completing the task. After she sold the leeks, she rushed back to the farm to grab the squid before setting off to Leah’s cabin.

At the door, Hana raised her hand to knock, but the door opened suddenly, Leah on the other side with her phone tucked between her shoulder and chin. She gestured silently for Hana to enter, and Hana took a step inside the door, staying equally silent.

Leah closed the door, said, “Listen, Kel, I have to go. But please,” she stepped away and turned her back to Hana, lowering her voice, but it was still easy to hear in the small, quiet space, “you have to stop calling me. I’m not coming back, and that’s final. We’re done. Please, please just accept that.”

There was a pause while the person on the other line spoke. Hana turned away to look busy and examine some of Leah’s sculptures and sketches, tried to make enough noise to herself to drown out the next few words, but she could still hear Leah say, “I have to go. I have a friend over—just a friend. Stop. Really, or I’ll call someone—just stop. Bye.”

Hana heard a beep then a sigh, and she turned around to see Leah standing with a hand up to her head, rubbing hard circles into her temple. 

“Sorry, I—”

“No,” Leah said turning to face Hana, “it’s fine. I’m glad you stopped by, it gave me an excuse to…” She trailed off shifting uncomfortably on her feet. “Anyway, I saw you coming through the back window. What’s up?”

Hana paused, but then reached into her bag, deciding not to push on the subject of the conversation she walked in on. “I saw your bulletin. For squid.” She pulled the freezer bag out of her backpack, the double layers of bags and ice packs condensing slightly on the outside. “It’s not fresh, but hopefully this will do?”

“Oo!” Leah said, reaching for it. “I think, as long as it hasn’t been cleaned of its ink. That’s really what I was looking for, but I know that it can be hard to come by.”

“You might have to defrost it a little, but yeah, I just popped this in the freezer pretty much right after I caught it.” Hana handed it over. “What’s the ink for?”

“Oh.” Leah blushed, biting her lip. “It’s for an art project. Well, several art projects. But I wanted to test something out first. As a gift, actually.”

“Nice,” Hana said. There was a small squeeze of her heart in her chest, but she pushed it aside. “Well, hopefully this works for you. 

Leah smiled. “Me, too.”

***

Hana would have skipped the Spring Dance if Sam hadn’t shown up to the farm right when she was done with her morning chores. She would have given him some excuse, begged off as unwell,  _ something _ , if Sam hadn’t offered to spend the day with her, no matter what she was doing.

“Why are you so insistent on getting me out to the dance anyway?” Hana asked, digging through her closet for the one sundress that would fit the dress code. 

Sam shrugged. “It’s a town tradition. And it wouldn’t be right if Stardew’s—”

“Don’t say it—”

“— _ Hero _ wasn’t there.” Sam grinned and crossed his arms. “Anyway, it’s free food and drink, and it’s a beautiful day to gallivant around in the woods like the pagans we really are.”

“What blasphemy. I’ll have you know that I’m a devout worshipper of Yoba.” Hana ducked into her bathroom, the bark of Sam’s laugh following her. 

And despite her initial desire to skip the dance altogether, Hana agreed that it was a beautiful day for it. The morning dew still clung to the grass, giving the woods a silvery glow that reflected on the townspeople, who all mingled with drinks and tea sandwiches in hand. When she and Sam arrived at the clearing, Sam gave Hana a squeeze on the shoulder, then rocketed off to his friends. He scooped up a mischievous-looking Vincent digging through the tall grass on the way, throwing the laughing boy over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. 

“You and Sam seem quite friendly,” Robin remarked, standing with Demetrius, Jodi, and Kent a short distance away.

Hana shrugged and tried not to blush, knowing that red cheeks would look suspicious. “He seems to believe that I need to be present for every single town event from now on. Still teasing me about that Stardew Hero stuff.”

Jodi laughed. “He’ll let it go eventually. Though you’ll never find anyone else as committed to a gag as Sam is.”

“He’s trouble, for sure.” Hana smiled and accepted the cup of punch Robin handed to her from the drinks table. “But I appreciate him anyway. Keeps things lively.”

The music in the clearing swelled, breaking through the conversation, and all the young people gathered in the center for the traditional dance. Though Hana was in the right age group as all the single citizens, she was the odd one out and wasn’t forced to participate. She was content to watch from the side, sipping her drink and cheering with the others when the more complex formations went smoothly, without a hitch. Sam held Penny’s hands with a gentleness that was unexpected from his large, somewhat lanky frame, his smile no less sunny when he turned it to her, made her laugh.

And not too far away, red-haired and extravagant in their movements, were Elliott and Leah. Despite the fact that neither of them had been in Pelican Town for very long, they moved with the same ease as everyone else, arms weaving and bodies sliding in time to the song. 

Hana looked away, ignoring the sinking feeling in her chest. She caught Sam’s eye, and in a slight pause in the dance, saw him wink before whisking Penny away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm occasionally on [tumblr](https://polyproticamory.tumblr.com/), but more often yelling on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/cecaroliena/).


	5. Drag me away from it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My semester is "over," but I still have a lot of work to do. Compressed schedules with no breaks really takes a toll, y'all.
> 
> Hope you're staying safe and well!

Hana had taken to writing in the saloon on some afternoons, finished with her chores and having just received money from her end-of-the-week sales. On Fridays she usually sat with a plate of spaghetti and a glass of wine before Abigail, Sam, and Sebastian arrived.

Sometimes, Emily sat with her with an embroidery hoop and a cup of green tea, spiked with whiskey and honey to sweeten. She smiled and hummed under her breath, but didn’t make any overtures towards conversation, simply enjoyed the quiet until Gus called her over to help.

The early patrons nodded at Hana as they entered, then called out to Gus when he greeted them from across the room. When more people arrived, Hana closed her notebook and tucked it away in her backpack. She placed the first order of pizza and a pitcher, the food ready and still hot when her friends arrived.

Friday nights helped Hana feel more settled. Ever since she started venturing out into the community more, it was like a craving for other people had opened up. Most days she could find a way to spend her time, taking wanted items to the people who posted the request, drinking iced tea in the shade of their porches as they chatted for a few hours. Hana, for the most part, listened to whatever the townspeople wanted to share, and only opened up further when asked direct questions.

“There’s not much to tell,” she’d say with a shrug. “I used to work for Joja, but I didn’t like it.”

“Yeah, but to come  _ here _ ?” Sebastian asked, picking the pepperoni off his pizza slice. He lined them up on his plate then rolled them into a rosette that he popped into his mouth. “Surely you could have just sold the place, got set up somewhere better.”

Hana shook her head. “I was planning on it, to be honest.” She had never been to the farm growing up since her grandfather always came up to the city to visit, and with no aunts or uncles or cousins to fight over the deed, the sale would have been free of family drama. 

“And?”

“And...I fell in love with the place instead.” Hana laughed at Sebastian’s incredulous expression, his eyebrows raised and disappearing into his fringe. “I know, it’s wild. The place was a total wreck when I arrived. But, I don’t know. There’s a way the light hits in the evenings that I don’t think I could get anywhere else.”

Sebastian grinned and shook his head. “Whatever you say, Hana.”

***

Summer nights passed like this, in easy conversation in the back room of the Stardrop, heckling Sebastian and cheering on Sam when the two of them went through their weekly billiards ritual. Every so often when she went to get refills or water for the three of them, she’d spot Elliott and Leah in a corner table, talking in low voices over a bottle of house red. Elliott wrapped his arm around Leah’s shoulders, and Hana could swear she felt the ghost of that touch breeze over her own skin. She shivered, embarrassed at being so touch-starved, and looked away quickly, hoping no one saw her pining.

Early in the season, though, Hana saw Leah dining alone, picking at salad loaded with cherry tomatoes, croutons, and chunks of roast chicken, doused in creamy caesar dressing. In front of her was a glass of water and a soda going flat. It was a Thursday night, busy with college students who were on summer vacation but no Pelican Town regulars yet, so Hana was also dining solo, glancing up from her notebook while she finished writing through the end of a page. 

Before she could do more than ponder the strangeness of seeing Leah alone, the bell over the entrance jingled, and Elliott walked through, his green eyes scanning the room. He paused when he saw Leah, and Leah looked back, her mouth lifting in a small smile. Though Elliott’s face was turned away from Hana, she saw him nod, reach up to tuck a stray hair behind his ear. Leah nodded back, then lowered her eyes to her plate again, making more of an effort to eat the food in front of her. 

Hana looked away from the scene, turning the page of her notebook. Though nothing happened, she felt voyeuristic, too curious about a wordless exchange that had nothing to do with her. She still felt caught in the middle of something. She tapped the capped end of her pen to the page, trying to will her mind away, into a new story, or a poem, or  _ something _ , when a voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Would you mind some company?”

Elliott had appeared at Hana’s booth holding a beer and an empty glass. He tilted his head towards the room behind him, bustling with activity. “I don’t really feel like sitting with strangers.”

“Go ahead,” Hana said, gesturing to the empty seat in front of her. She didn’t mention the empty table where Leah sat, but her expression prompted a sigh from the red-haired man. 

“The perils of living in a small community. Even an amicable break up can turn awkward.”

“Break up?” Hana shook her head. “I’m not up on the town gossip, I’m afraid.”

Elliott smiled. “An admirable feat, considering how much is made out of so little.”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Hana said. She shrugged and looked down at her pen, fiddling with the cap. “There are more interesting stories than the sordid affairs of regular people.”

“Are there?” Elliot poured his beer, tilting both bottle and glass to minimize the foam. “It seems to be all the rage lately, to write about the intimate relations of two characters you probably wouldn’t give a second glance in real life.”

Hana frowned. “There’s a lot I want to say in response to that. But since you mentioned writing, I have to ask. How’s the book going?”

Elliott didn’t hide his wince, and Hana felt her heart jump in her throat. “Sorry,” she said. “Not a good topic?”

“No, no. Actually, it’d be nice to…”

“Hmm?”

Their eyes met for a moment, Elliott’s searching gaze seeming to rove over Hana’s whole face. Hana felt a blush rising under her skin but hoped it wouldn’t be too obvious in the low light. “It’d be nice to...what?” she asked. 

Elliott exhaled and slumped back in his seat. “Think you have a pep talk in you for a struggling artist?”

“You remembered that?” Hana said, glad that her voice stayed steady despite her surprise. 

“Of course. I did say that I might take you up on it.”

Hana set her pen down and leaned away from the table, her back hitting the cushion of the booth. “Right.” She took a sip of her water and set her glass down. “You ready for it, then?”

Elliott smiled, still a little sad. “Ready when you are.”

***

On a clear afternoon nearing golden hour, Hana knelt carefully on the rocks that ringed the tide pool. The knees of her jeans grew damp, but she reached out to the starfish under the water. “See?” she said to Vincent, running her finger along the bumpy surface of the sea creature. “It’s fine. You can touch it, but be gentle.” 

Vincent leaned over to dip his hand in, and Hana steadied him with an arm across his shoulders. His face lit up when his short fingers met the unexpectedly tough exterior. 

“Cool,” he said, drawing out the word. He lifted his head to shout. “Hey, Sam! Sam! Come see this starfish!”

Sam turned away from the ocean, the sun low enough in the sky that it lit him from the side. Even from a distance, in low light, Hana could see his bright blue eyes shining as he smiled. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his rolled-up jeans and walked over to them, feet kicking up wet sand. 

“We should probably get out of here,” Sam said, jerking his head toward the ocean. “Tide’s gonna come in soon.”

Hana nodded, then helped Vincent up. The young boy immediately clambered onto Sam’s back, then his shoulders, wet hands leaving prints on his older brother’s shirt. Sam laughed and held onto Vincent’s shins, walking away as the first waves rushed in and lapped at Hana’s feet. She followed the sound of Vincent’s laughter, and tried not to look too often at the shack Elliott called home. 

It wasn’t hard to imagine Elliott there, overdressed in a bare-bones shack by the sea. The clothes, Hana knew now, weren’t a delusion of grandeur, but a costume he wore to furnish his imagination. She couldn’t blame him for having that little extra to jumpstart his make-believe. 

But it was easy to think of him in that single room, the bed in the corner, and most of the space taken up by an upright piano and a wooden desk against the back wall. She had walked home with him after their conversation at the bar, accepting a parcel of pages from his typewriter, promising to read his work honestly, tell him what she thought. 

That conversation was the longest one they’d ever had, and it felt like being pushed into the deep end with no warning. Instead of simply saying a series of empty platitudes to perk up the man’s mood, Hana had started with, “Tell me about your writing.”

Elliott resisted (“You tell me about yours,” he said, glancing down at the notebook on the table) but eventually spoke tentatively about his works in progress. Something in him seemed to unfurl, and he spoke honestly, if haltingly, about what was at the root of all his worry.

“I fear I may just be all style and no substance,” he admitted, picking at the shared basket of zucchini fritters Hana had ordered along with the same beer Elliott was drinking. “I have ideas, and a feeling of what literature  _ should _ do—”

“What  _ should _ literature do?”

“You would know.” Elliott looked down at the notebook again. 

Hana shook her head. “But I want to hear  _ you _ say it.” When Elliott narrowed his eyes at her skeptically, she sighed. “I have my ideas about literature, and they’re  _ mine _ . Just as you have your ideas that are  _ yours _ , and writing is all about taking those ideas and saying them in a way that only  _ you _ can say them, in such a way that  _ everyone else _ will want to hear.”

“But  _ does _ everyone want to hear it? I’ve...been getting rejections everywhere I send my work to. I revisit my stories, rewrite them and edit, and send them back out again, but then…nothing.”

Hana reached out and put her hand on top of Elliott’s, unthinking. “That’s publishing. That’s a whole industry. That’s not  _ writing _ .”

Elliott smiled, and though some of the sadness still lingered, there was also a genuine hint of softness around his eyes. “But publishing is how I could make a  _ living _ while  _ writing _ .”

“Yes,” Hana agreed. “But I believe I asked you to tell me about your  _ writing _ .”

Elliott laughed, flipping his hand to squeeze Hana’s before sliding it away to take up his glass. “Fair enough. Would you mind terribly if I showed you instead?”

“I’d be happy to read your stuff, yeah.” Hana pulled her hand back and took up her fork for the last of her spaghetti. “Just let me know.”

It had only been a few days since then and Hana still had the pages. She read them once, simply taking in the stories as they were, pretending they were already published, made notes on the experience of reading the story the first time. They sat on her kitchen table, on the opposite end of where she normally ate her meals, and she hadn’t yet touched them again, wanting to give herself some distance while she turned them over in her head. 

They were good stories, well-structured and written in a way that drew vivid, lingering images. It was clear that Elliott was a good study of craft, as each story seemed perfectly balanced to the point where Hana imagined finding its center of gravity with a forefinger. 

It was almost unnerving how well Elliott hit the beats of the story, constructing the tension in a measured, elegant way. And maybe that was what made Hana pause, what kept her from leaping out of her seat, or sinking fully into the pages. There was no messiness. There were no rough edges.

“You all right?” Sam called, jostling Hana out of her thoughts. He was only a few paces away, walking backwards with Vincent curled over his head.

Hana nodded, then glanced at Elliott’s cabin one last time before jogging to catch up with her friend. 

***

The blue skies of the mornings were interrupted by thunderstorms that rained out faster than they arrived. Hana turned off the automatic timing of her sprinklers, grateful for the intermittent showers. The days were honey viscous and sweet, summer sunshine and an easy life.

Some days Hana walked into town and browsed the stacks for something new to read. If she was there while Sam was working, he’d grin and wave, leaving a bottle of water on her desk, or tapping her shoulder to get cranberry candy from the saloon during his lunch break. Penny’s lessons with the children were winding down for summer vacation, too, so she would join them, giggling at Sam’s antics while he tried to drink the carbonated beverage in one, long pull on the straw. 

One day, Hana brought in a new artifact for Gunther to analyze, a gem with rainbow stripes stripes flashing through the center. “I might have brought this in already,” Hana said setting the stones on the library’s front desk. “Thought I’d check in anyway.”

“Yep, that’s another prismatic shard,” Gunther said. “See those streaks there? I’m happy to take them off your hands if you wanna, but I think the collection’s good with just the one.”

“I’ll keep them, then,” Hana said, picking them up and placing them in her bag. “Thanks anyway.”

“Sure thing. Hey, can you do me a favor and take this to Sam?” Gunther handed her a set of freshly cut description cards. “Updated some of the information on the dwarf artifacts you found a while back. The display locations are on the back.”

“Can do.”

Hana took the cards and walked through the library, enjoying the stillness. The silence was so absolute that the sound of her boots against the wood floors seemed to deaden instead of echo in the emptiness. 

She stepped through to the museum area and found Sam in the back corner, dutifully mopping and jamming out to whatever music was playing through his headphones. He looked up as Hana waved, grinned when she got closer. “Hey, you.”

“Hey.” Hana waved the cards. “Gunther wanted me to bring these over.”

Sam took the cards and shuffled through them, flipping them to check the backs. “Cool, thanks. Anyway,” he tucked the cards in the breast pocket of his shirt and leaned on the closest shelf. “How’s your day been?”

Hana shrugged. “It’s been alright. Farming stuff, lazy stuff, you know.” Sam’s face shifted, his smile growing smaller, and softer. Hana tilted her head. “What’s up?”

The blond man didn’t answer right away, but twirled the mop in his hands. “Wanted to ask you something. Well. Give you something.”

“Hmm?”

Sam leaned the mop against the wall, then stepped past Hana. “It’s just.” He opened a cabinet underneath a shelf of ancient dolls Hana had unearthed in the mines and pulled out a small bundle of flowers tied with a linen ribbon. 

Hana recognized the flowers as being from her own farm. A mix of fairy roses that ranged from a deep mauve to pale, almost white, pink. She didn’t move to take it, frozen in place by the implication. 

“Sam…”

“I know you know what this means,” Sam said, twirling the bouquet between his palms, “but also...I know that it might seem kinda sudden. We’ve really only known each other for a summer, after all.”

“Um.” Hana could feel her face blush, her eyes fixed on the swirl of each rose. “Y-yeah. I, well, you’re a really cool guy.” She winced internally, aware of how lackluster her voice sounded. 

Sam laughed, a quiet breath that made Hana look up. “I got this a bit wrong, huh?”

“N-no. I mean, I think I get it. You’re really great to hang out with.”

“But…?” He was smiling, still, which Hana took as a good sign. He raised an eyebrow and his cheeks turned pink, but he kept looking in her eyes. 

“But...I don’t think my feelings for you are...like that.” Hana gestured at the bouquet, then let her hand fall to her side. It felt weirdly exposed, the back of her hands suddenly cold in the air conditioning of the library, so she slipped her hand in her pocket. “I’m sorry.”

Sam laughed again, a little louder, but still warm. “Nah, nah. It’s okay! No harm done.”

“Really?”

Sam shrugged. “I gotta shoot my shot, right? But really, it’s fine.” His characteristic ease settled on his face and he tucked the stems of the flowers in his back pocket, giving himself a sort of technicolor tail. 

Hana laughed, and felt a little like crying. It would have been so easy, maybe, to like Sam, to not shy away from his affection. It’s certainly the case that she became his friend faster than she had become anyone else’s friend in Pelican Town. It had taken her months of farm renovations to even realize that Sebastian lived in Robin’s basement, and after that he only stopped treating her with his standard aloofness after she had caught him in the rain on the beach and shared an umbrella with him back up to the mountains. 

So why couldn’t it have been Sam? Hana said goodbye to him at the library, after promising that she’d be at the saloon as usual on Friday, and climbed into the mining cart next to Clint’s shop. She rode to the quarry, then just stayed in the cart, her legs draped over the side, warming in the sun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](https://polyproticamory.tumblr.com/).


	6. How I'm imagining you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hana opens up a bit about what brought her to the Valley in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I turned in a draft of my thesis to my advisor last week and so now I'm trying to turn my attention to this and other fics. I just started playing Tales of Vesperia and LOVE the world and the characters, so I've been playing around in that world a lot, too. 
> 
> I feel like in this chapter I got around to actually giving Hana more of a backstory. I'd love to know what you all think!

Hana _liked_ the taste of alcohol. A well-brewed beer tasted like what she’d imagined topaz would: warm-hued and slick, gleaming on the tongue. Gus’s birthday at the Stardrop was a raucous celebration for a work day. The bartender was on the patron side of the bar, surrounded by everyone in the town, pushing drinks and food and gifts into his hands, cracking jokes, punching his arm in good fun. 

Elliott had stepped behind the counter with Emily, stripped of his jacket to reveal his shirtsleeves and vest underneath. His hair was tied back in a small bun at the nape of his neck and Hana was distracted by the small curls near his ears.

A few days prior, Hana pushed the pages of his stories back into his hands, all marked with purple ink, with a letter placed on top that summarized her feedback. “I think you’ve really got something,” she said honestly. She stepped away hastily, putting some distance between them. 

Elliott grinned. “Really? I...you’re sure? Not just saying that to be nice?”

Hana shook her head. “No, I’m not. They can be stronger,” she said, gesturing at the manuscript, “but you have a way with scene setting. And characters. I _felt_ something for all of them. That’s hard to do.” 

“Thank you,” Elliott said, hugging the stories to his chest. “I’ll take a look at this right away.”

Hana hadn’t had a chance to follow up with him since. She was busy with fulfilling a large batch of orders for goat cheese that Pierre had requested. Abigail sat in her living room appending the labels to the shrink-wrapped packages, gossiping about the budding relationship between herself and Maru, about Sebastian’s job prospects in the city, about her mother’s dire warnings to avoid the tower in the forest. It was almost easy to forget that she had read Elliot’s words until she showed up at the Stardrop and he was there, pushing Gus out from behind the bar.

She felt unmoored by his sudden appearance, and so Hana sat on a stool near the corner and cut more sheet cake slices for something to do with her hands. Gus laughed. “No more, no more!” But then he took up a fork anyway and had bites in between sips of a gin and tonic. 

The place was full to the brim. Gus knew everyone in town well enough that they all felt a need to drop by and wish him well. A small pile of gifts had amassed in Hana’s usual booth near the door. Jas and Vincent were in the back room, taking turns at Journey of the Prairie King. The crack of the billiard balls from Sebastian and Abigail’s game occasionally hovered over the sound of the jukebox that Sam stood near with a roll of quarters. Penny even made a rare appearance at the saloon, standing close to Sam and examining the song selection with him, making note of the songs he chose and the order they should go in. 

They looked good together, and Hana smiled when she noticed how Penny would reach out and put a hand on Sam’s arm, or shove his shoulder, or brush her fingers across his when it was time to put another quarter in. The Friday night after Hana turned down Sam’s bouquet had gone on as usual. Sam lost to Sebastian in their weekly ritual, and Abigail picked Hana’s brain about a problem set from her online class. They all shared pizza and a pitcher, laughed and kicked each other under the table. It was normal, and sometimes Hana caught herself sighing with relief when she realized that the bouquet really didn’t affect their friendship.

Still, the thought of romantic prospects formed a knot in her stomach. Her gaze shifted over to Elliott at the other end of the bar, the muscle of his arms straining a little against his shirt as he made an old fashioned for Leah in a shaker. The two of them laughed at something, and Leah’s eyes flicked down to survey the red-haired man when he turned away to get the glass from the back counter. But Elliott set the drink on a coaster on the bar and turned to take an order from Harvey, and his friendly demeanor didn’t change. He treated Leah with the same casual delight that he did everyone else, and something in Hana’s chest eased, then started racing again when she recognized her relief.

“You good, farmer?” Shane said from next to her, clapping a hand on her shoulder. 

Hana shook her head and tore her eyes away from Elliott, just in time for him to look up from the fridge of small batch brew bottles that were from her own farm. “Sorry, what?”

Shane shrugged. “You just looked out of it.”

“Yeah.”

“What was that?” Shane asked, the music from the jukebox suddenly reaching a deafening volume. Behind them, Hana heard Sam whoop, yell, _Fuck yeah, I love this song!_ Shane took up his bottle and jerked his head toward the door. 

Hana followed, bringing her own bottle, the glass sweating in her hand, her hand sweating on the glass. She glanced behind her one more time at the scene behind her, Elliott flitting around Emily to grab a bottle of tequila for Marnie’s margarita. 

***

Outside, the summer night had cooled, stars visible and twinkling in the clear, black sky. Hana took Shane’s lead and sat down on the step leading into the Stardrop, just wide enough for the both of them to sit side by side, their knees knocking. 

“Alright, that’s better,” Shane said, lifting the bottle to his mouth. “Couldn’t hear myself think. Anyway.” He looked at Hana out of the corner of his eye. “What’d you say?”

“I said…yeah. I was a little out of it.” Hana started peeling at the label, the logo for Illumine Acres coming off first. “Nothing big, just distracted tonight is all.”

Shane shrugged. “Right.” He looked her over, mouth twisted in a thoughtful expression. But he didn’t say anything further, just clinked his bottle with hers before taking another sip. 

Hana sighed and had lifted her bottle but didn’t take a swig. The cricket chirps echoed in the open night, ringing in her ears. She was on the verge of something, gazing into an emptiness she didn't know the depth of. This feeling always made her lips loose. She always opened up, tried to rival that abyss. When she spoke, it was a slow, careful murmur. “You know...I almost sold the farm.”

“Hmm?” 

“I didn’t know anything about farming, and I had a friend who was taking classes at Zuzu State in sustainable agriculture.” Hana rolled the bottle between her palms and licked her lips. “I was going to sell it to her. Or like, share ownership of it with her. She was going to get it started as a farm, and then a few years later I was going to come down here and help turn it into a retreat center. Like, an artist’s retreat and organic farm situation.”

Shane whistled. “Damn.”

“Yeah,” Hana chuckled. “We had a whole five-year plan and everything. I started looking into grants and loans and start-up capital. Tried to make sure it was all clean, too. No Joja money, no petrochemicals, no weapons manufacturers. Real hippie stuff.”

“That’s awesome,” Shane said. He leaned back against the wall and looked at Hana through droopy eyes, thumbing the condensation off his beer. His eyes were bright and keen in the porch light, and he frowned. “Something happened, though.”

Hana pressed her drink to her forehead, sighing at the cool press of the glass. “More like...nothing happened. Nothing tragic, anyway. She got busy when the semester started up again, and then got an internship at a seed company. I don’t know. But her plans changed, and I tried to be flexible, say that we could get this venture started whenever we wanted, no rush.”

Shane hummed but didn’t say anything. It’s not like anything needed to be said—Hana was here, and her friend was not. The whole, sorry tale played out in Hana’s head: the late nights staying up playing around with spreadsheets, doing the math and breaking it down into manageable milestones. It was summer vacation and her friend had the time, sitting cross-legged on the floor of Hana’s apartment sketching plans for the property, what would get planted where and in what season, what year. The logistics of the crop rotation she left to Hana—gave her a set of parameters to fulfill and then _go_ , optimize for soil health and cost. 

Then the fall happened, and her friend moved back into the college dorms. The three-inch binders of plans and notes gathered dust in Hana’s apartment. Hana got a promotion at her day job, came home every night exhausted. One night she placed a coaster and a mug of lavender tea on top of the binder stack, and then that dream became an end table. Her friend told her about the internship, pushed their plans back a year. Then another two years so she could do her Master’s. Then five more years for a PhD, and a possible researcher position at the end of it. Hana turned down a promotion; her doctor said that the stress and sedentary lifestyle was shortening her life span, significantly. 

She quit her job, packed up and left for the Valley last spring, tried to hack it all together on her own. 

Shane cleared his throat after a lingering silence. “So. An artist retreat and organic farm, huh?”

Hana shrugged. “I had a professor in college who used to say that all an artist needed was fresh air and time. And there’s all of that in abundance here.”

Shane nodded. “I can see why…” 

“Hm?”

“I can see why thinking about this would lead to giving goo-goo eyes to Elliott.” Shane took his last sip from his bottle. 

Hana didn’t even try to deny it, just let herself feel the blush. “Am I that obvious?”

Shane laughed and shook his head. “I wouldn’t worry about it, farmer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me occasionally on [Tumblr](https://polyproticamory.tumblr.com).


	7. I'm put in awe of something so flawed and free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliott visits with a favor to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I finished a major edit of my thesis, am still procrastinating on a million things, and cannot get Elliott and Hana out of my head (among a bunch of other fic ideas that I've had to push aside for other responsibilities). But I hope you all enjoy this chapter! It isn't as long as I would have liked (had other things going on), but I hope to post more very, very soon!

Hana hauled in a few pails of fresh milk and left them on the porch for the cream to separate out. She concentrated so much on not spilling that she didn’t notice the figure walking up the path from town until she sighed and undid the bandana at her neck. She wiped her sweaty forehead and felt her heart jump into her throat when she turned to look at the road. 

Elliott waved as he walked, dressed down in a pair of blue jeans and one of his button-down shirts, the sleeves rolled and the collar loose. He smiled when Hana waved back. She lifted her straw hat from her head and ran a hand through her hair. “Elliott. Hi.”

“Hana,” he said when he got closer. “Good morning. Do you have a moment?”

“Sure,” she said. “Just finished most of my chores. Would you,” she gestured at her front door. “Would you like to come inside?”

“That would be nice.” He stood aside for Hana to take the steps up to her door before him, held the screen door open when she pulled her keyring from her belt loop to unlock her front door. 

She stepped inside and moved out of the doorway to let Elliott in, sitting down on a bench next to the door to unlace her boots. “You can keep your shoes on, if you want. I just switch out for slippers so that I don’t track in too much dirt.”

“It’s no trouble,” Elliott said. He slipped his loafers off easily, his low-cut socks patterned with duck feathers. Hana giggled, stifling it quickly, but Elliott laughed along, looking down at his feet. “I do have quite the sock collection, if I’m honest, but I’m partial to these.”

“They’re cute,” Hana said, smiling up at Elliot. She pulled her house slippers—boring flannel patterned ones—from under the bench. “Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee? Tea? If you’re not in a hurry, that is.”

“That...would be lovely, actually,” Elliott said. “Tea, if that’s alright.”

“Sure.” Hana walked into the kitchen, gesturing at the small dining table that was, for once, free of papers or notebooks. “Sit, make yourself at home.” After she remembered the old dream, murmuring it to Shane on the quiet doorstep of the Stardrop, she cleared off the old desk in her bedroom, a hand-me-down from her grandfather. A regal executive desk made of dark hardwood, the brass hardware still retaining some of its sheen even after all these years. Over the year she had been here, it became a repository of clean laundry in need of mending, and initial crop plans, and bills for the occasional bout of exhaustion that landed her in the clinic. She took the weekend to tidy everything, made some paper organizers from the driftwood she dried on her back porch, and then mounted some cork board on the wall. The corner next to her bed turned into a small home office, and her dining room table reverted to its original function. 

Elliott pulled a chair from the table, but hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“I got this. Here,” she opened a tin and passed it to Elliott. “Let me know if that’s alright. Lady Grey.”

Elliott inhaled deeply. “Smells lovely. That would be great.”

Hana took the tin as she placed the filled kettle on the stove. “Alright. You’ve officially helped.” She grinned. “Now sit down, relax. I know the hill to get up here is no joke.” 

“But worth it. The view on the way here is gorgeous.”

“It has its perks.” Hana opened her cabinets, assembled a small tea tray with sugar, honey, and cream from the fridge. “You should come here in the fall. There’s this sweet spot in the season when enough of the trees have lost their leaves that you can see the Gem Sea in the gaps, but there’s still enough foliage that it looks like an eternal sunset.” 

“I’ll definitely be back for that.” Elliott sat back in his chair and looked around. Hana tried not to think too much about how it might look from his eyes, the simple furnishings and the leftover decorations from her grandfather—framed photos of her family, crocheted throw blankets on her couches, a hand-painted sign that said _home sweet home_. The only addition she made was her diploma on the wall, professionally framed, kept in a corner so that the sun didn’t fade it. “You have a lovely home.”

“Thanks,” Hana said. She set the tray down on the table and moved back to the stove, turning off the heat under the kettle before it could start whistling in earnest. “Robin said that the original architecture was sound, made it so that it lasted after all this time of being empty. And made her renovation job easier, too.”

Elliott hummed and nodded, looking out the front window, through the gap in the curtains. The sun was fully up, and the farm was bright outside the window, beyond the shaded porch. She fixed the tea, set a small egg timer for a few minutes, let him soak in the view. The sights from the farmhouse were enrapturing, inspiring. Her attention strayed toward the plans on her desk, the daydream of filling the farm with similar artistic souls, immersed in the beauty of the valley. She set the teapot down right as the timer went off, and they both looked at one another, eyes meeting. 

It was just a brief moment, but Hana felt breathless, suddenly aware of his proximity, the small space of the table, the closeness of their chairs. She looked away and sat down, clearing her throat. “A-anyway.” She picked up the teapot and poured Elliott’s cup first, then her own. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this morning?” She kicked herself internally over how stilted her words sounded. 

Elliott took the cup and shook his head. “Right. This isn’t a purely social visit.” He reached for the sugar dish and removed the lid. “I was wondering if I could ask you for a small favor.”

“Sure.” She poured a small stream of cream into her tea and stirred. “What’s up?”

“Well, Leah’s said that she’s finished enough pieces to put on a proper art show by the end of the fall,” Elliott said. 

Hana hummed, hiding the jolt of surprise that made her heart jump. She didn’t ask, _Oh, are you talking with Leah again?_ , almost blushed that the question had occurred to her anyway. “That’s wonderful!” she said instead, taking a sip. 

“Yes, and Lewis is quite excited about the prospect. He’s thinking that it could be a big event, potentially bring in some tourists.”

“That sounds good, yeah.”

“And Leah,” Elliott cleared his throat, took up his teacup, “she had this idea of making it a sort of celebration of the arts. She asked me to read a piece that fits with the overall theme of her show, or maybe something inspired by her pieces.”

“Oh!” Hana said. “That sounds wonderful. Do you want help picking what to read?”

“Not exactly,” Elliott said, “though I would love your input. But rather...I was wondering if you could contribute something.”

“Like, catering? I can probably pull that off—”

Elliott reached over and placed his hand on Hana’s making her pause. “That’s a wonderful idea, but also not really what I had in mind.” He squeezed her hand, didn’t let go. Hana’s heart thumped in her chest as Elliott continued. “I was wondering if you could read some of your work.”

“My...work?”

“Your writing.” Elliott held Hana’s gaze and lowered his teacup. “Forgive me for being presumptuous, but...I know you write things of your own. It would be wonderful if you could share some of that work.” 

“Oh.” Hana blushed, dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin, just to have something to do with her hands. “I mean, I have been writing. But,” she gazed back at him, smiling to hide her embarrassment, “you don’t even know if it’s any good.”

“So then show me,” Elliott said. His voice was low, gentle. “That is, if you want. I trust you with my words, and I hope you feel you can trust me with yours.” 

Hana sighed, looked down at her cup. Their hands were still linked, and lingered at the edges of her vision. She set her mouth in a tight line and squeezed Elliott’s hand once before letting go and standing. “How well-versed are you in poetry?”

#

It became a thing. _Their_ thing. Elliott would print a new short story from the library computer, and Hana would write a poem on loose leaf paper in her best handwriting. They’d meet at the Stardrop on Fridays—before Sam, Sebastian, and Abby arrived to hang out in the back room—and talk about their first impressions, what they liked about what the other had written, and then suggest some small change, ask a question that opened up their writing in new ways. 

“I’m excited,” Elliott said, grinning and leaning his chin on his hand. “I’ve never read my work out loud before, so I’m nervous, but I find that I can’t stop daydreaming about it. An audience, ready to listen.” 

“It _is_ a rush,” Hana said, sipping her coke and rum. 

“You’ve read before?”

Hana shrugged. “In college. Open mic nights and slam poetry. It was fun. I never won any prizes, of course,” she laughed, leaning forward to match Elliott’s posture. “But it’s not about winning, at the end of the day. It’s about sharing a part of you with people who are really listening. There’s a moment. When you can see a line really _landing_ , and people are with you for the rest of your piece.”

“That sounds…” Elliott chuckled, picked at the plate of fries between them. “Even more frightening. But fun, as you said.”

“You’ll hook the audience,” Hana said. “I’m sure of it. You…”

Elliott hummed, raising his eyebrows at her.

Hana cleared her throat and looked at their food. “You hooked me. The first line of your most recent piece,” she clarified, knowing that her face was turning red. “It hooked me. I was with you the rest of the way.”

They didn’t spend a lot of time eating and exchanging feedback. Elliott always left early, saying that he had to get back to his cabin before the sun fully set. He paid his half of the bill and insisted on covering all of the tip before he left. And when he stepped out, he gave Hana a small wave from the door as she got to the counter to put in her usual order for pizza and a pitcher to share with her friends. 

Once, Leah walked up to her on her way from the back room to the bar for a refill, stopped her with a touch on her arm. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Hana said, turning to face Leah fully. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” Leah said. She smiled. “Just wanted to say thanks. For agreeing to read.” 

“Oh.” Hana nodded. “I mean, of course. Anything I can do.”

Leah took some of the glasses from Hana’s arms and walked with her to the bar. “It’s super rad of you. I mean, Elliott did say…” She looked at Hana and bit her lip, still smiling, but a little dimmer now. “He did say that you were a brilliant editor. Always knew exactly how to fix a story.”

Hana shook her head. She looked at Leah closely, tried to read something in the woman’s gray eyes. It felt strange to be having this conversation, knowing what they both knew about Elliott and Leah’s history. The other woman looked back guilelessly, though, her mouth still smiling. “I had good material to work with,” Hana said, a beat late. 

“Hmm.” Leah set the glasses down and tilted her head. “Maybe. But I’m sure you’re no slouch in the writing department.”

“At the very least I hope to do justice to your work,” Hana said, nodding at Leah. 

The artist laughed, shaking her head. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](https://polyproticamory.tumblr.com).


End file.
